


Dare To Eat A Peach

by Poemsingreenink



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:46:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: Goodnight isn't against this new arrangement no matter what anyone may say or think.





	Dare To Eat A Peach

**Author's Note:**

> Mag7week: Aftermath

Billy climbed into bed that night with damp hair, and the smell of soap still on his skin. He lifted Goodnight's arm so that he could crawl underneath it, and then curled tight against him shivering the whole time.

"You took a bath?" Goody asked.

There were a few autumn leaves still clinging to the trees around Rose Creek, but Goody suspected they were only doing it out of sheer stubbornness. The temperatures were dropping by the day, and a bone-deep chill was settling in among the citizens. There weren't a lot of things that could have gotten Goodnight near unheated water, and Billy usually wan’t fond of cold baths either.

Billy shrugged.

"Felt rude not to."

How he fit a full sentence around his chattering teeth was a mystery to Goody, and he pulled him a little closer with one hand, and tugged the top most quilt till it covered them both to the shoulders.

"Others would consider it rude that you didn't spend the night."

"Did you _want_ me to spend the night?" Billy asked, voice muffled as he pulled the blanket over his head.

Goodnight frowned. This entire arrangement was still new, and the rules were so up in the air that Goodnight wasn't entirely sure whether to consider them rules at all. Rules usually came into being after some sort of committee debated them. Rules received official notarization. What they were all working off were more like guidelines, and Goodnight wondered if that might be a problem down the line. 

"No," he said, after thinking the question over.  "I don't believe I did."

New or not the idea of spending the night alone in bed without Billy was an unpleasant one. He may have been in favor of this, but he wasn't a saint. 

"I could have invited him back," Billy said, head reappearing. "But I thought it would be a little cramped."

"Three grown men trying to share this bed would be uncomfortable," Goodnight agreed.

Their bed barely fit the two of them, and if everything in their little room from the bedbugs to the blankets hadn't been generously donated by the grateful Rose Creek citizens Goodnight would have complained. 

He settled back against the pillows, and then buried his nose behind Billy's ear.

"Well, next time know I don't mind," he said. "No need to give yourself frostbite because you don't want me smelling him on you. I said I don't mind, and I wasn't lying, _cher_."

"I don't even know if we'll do it again," Billy said. "We might not, but if we do I'll still wash off after."

"But I just said-"

Billy blew a strand of hair out of his face, and then laid his ear right over Goodnight's heart.

" _I_ mind, Goody."

"I see."

"It feels rude."

"Yes, you mentioned." He paused wondering if he should leave the issue be, at least for the night, but then pushed ahead anyway. "Did Vasquez have any particular opinion on any of this?"

Billy shrugged. "No, but he said if I'd let him know before I came over he could of had hot water ready, and we could have shared a bath."

Billy suddenly went stiff, and then tried to shift away. Goodnight held him tightly, and then kissed the side of his head. 

"That's real nice of him, darling. No one wants you catching your death."

 

* * *

 

The way Goodnight saw it the world, both this one and the next, worked around a well-organized system of checks and balances. Deeds were accounted for, words were tallied, and accountants were hired in order to keep the world moving.

"I always felt the Egyptians had it right," he'd once told Sam.

Suffering under the terrible combination of being both sober and famished, they'd stopped for the night somewhere in Tennessee. The moon was dark, and the stars had seemed so bright and numerous that Goodnight expected their shared weight to bring the sky down atop their heads.

"See this is what I'm talking about," Sam said.

He'd shot squirrel for supper, and was poking at the embers of their small fire. Swearing and working his lungs like a bellows he blew on the coals, and persuaded the flames to grow to a profitable size.

"You need to have the _entire_ conversation with me, Goody," Sam said in-between puffs. "You had the first half of whatever this one is in your head. I can't respond if I have no idea what the hell we're talking about."

Goodnight dropped a bundle of kindling, and then crouched in front of Sam's project to feed a few twigs into the mix.

"I'm talking about judgment."

The fire took, and Sam laid the spit roasted squirrel over the flames.

"Great, a subject," Sam said. "Keep going. Connect your thoughts together like train cars, and then once you have the whole thing ready send it out west."

Goodnight rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, Sam."

"You can't even give me a pleasant conversation," Sam said. "What makes you think I'm letting you near what's in my drawers?"

"Fine, fine," Goodnight grumbled. "The Egyptians believed that when you died you went before one of their gods for judgment. He ripped your heart right out of your chest, and then weighed it against a feather. If the heart was pure the scales balanced, and you got to move on."

"And if it wasn't?"

Goodnight grinned. "It was fed to a god with a crocodile head."

He snapped his teeth for emphasis, and Sam's laugh was so broad and big that it sailed upwards and knocked the overweight sky back into place.

"Why am I not surprised?" Sam asked, once he'd finished.

Goodnight shrugged. "There's a balance to it that I appreciate. _Tit-for-tat_ and all of that noise."

"That's just the Catholic in you, but I bet the crocodiles are another reason you like it so much," Sam said. "And let me guess. You're sitting over there, convinced that you've got the words 'eat me' burned right into your chest?"

"I've done a lot of bad things, Sam," Goodnight said. "And not nearly enough good to keep those scales balanced."

"We all did a lot of bad things in the war," Sam responded. "Brooding over that won't change anything."

Goodnight leaned back on his heels. By habit he reached for his flask which was still sorrowfully empty, and then switched to his water canteen. Sam didn't wear a badge. Goodnight wasn't entire sure duly sworn warrant officers were given badges, but if given one Sam would had worn it right on his chest. It would have glinted in the firelight, a bright reminder of a man who'd looked at the world and decided to stitch some justice back into its folds. No matter Sam's past deeds Goodnight knew that buried in his friend's chest was the safest, most balanced heart he'd ever hope to find.

He took a swing of the canteen, and wished it was whiskey.

 

* * *

 

The floorboards of the Rose Creek general store were uneven, pockmarked and noisy. They creaked and moaned under the steps of even light-footed Emma Cullen, which meant that it sounded like an entire river of dead souls had gotten to hollering when Goodnight thumped across them with one good leg, one bad leg and one cane.

"Are you laughing at the plight of your elders Mrs. Cullen," Goodnight asked, dryly.

Sweat was dripping down his spine as a result of this excursion, but being out and about was ten times better than staying cooped up in their room at the hotel. Goodnight's leg was bad, and would remain bad for the rest of his days. It had nothing on the damage done to Billy's shoulder, but both their traveling days were over.

Emma shook her head solemnly. "I would never dream of such a thing."

She rebalanced a basket on her hip, and inspected their options.

"Now you said you needed soap, and a mending kit," she scoured the shelves and added the first to her basket. "You know if you needed any mending done-"

"Half the women in this town would fight for the honor," Goodnight said. He tipped his hat to Mrs. Weaver who was behind the counter assisting young Mrs. Samuels with a bolt of cloth. Both of them were doing a terrible job at not listening to every word of their conversation. "So we've been told."

It wasn't just the mending that the town was fighting for the honor of. Neither of them had cooked a meal since they'd ridden into town. Their rooms were free, and when Goodnight had tried to pay the money he'd pulled out had been flatly refused. He was as grateful as he was ashamed of this assistance, but he also wasn't a fool. They needed this, and the need terrified him. The eventual day that the citizens of Rose Creek decided they didn't care to shelter two busted-up cowboys was the day he and Billy were in serious trouble.

The creaking floorboards announced the arrival of another shopper, and both he and Emma turned to see Vasquez walk into the store.

He was still as fit and hearty as the day Goodnight had met him. Skin tanned a deep brown from the work he'd been doing on Emma's farm, and with a lightness to his person that was new. He had a sack of flower thrown over one shoulder, and a dusting of the stuff covered his clothes.  He spotted Emma first, and a wide grin split across his face.

"You said we needed flour this morning. So I thought that I'd -"

Then he saw Goodnight. Specifically, he saw Goodnight's cane. It was a long, sturdy piece of polished oak that Billy liked to pretend was a sword whenever he got too drunk.  Vasquez took a step back, as though he should run before he got brained with it. Then, thinking the matter over, he puffed up like a confident tom cat and held his ground.

"Hello Vasquez," Goodnight said.

The conversation between Mrs. Samuels and Mrs. Weaver didn't stop. It carried on behind them with the ease of a wave washing along the shore, accompanied by the gentle _snick_ of the scissors as it sliced through the bolt of bright blue fabric.

Goodnight wasn't fooled for a second. He wondered which part of their odd little constellation of social calls looked strangest to the townsfolk; Emma and Vasquez's blossoming romance? Him and Billy's not-so-secret relationship? The even worst kept secret of Billy and Vasquez? By all rights they should have been chased out of this little town with pitchforks and priests by now. They should have been dunked in holy water, and burned with scarlet letters.

The last time Goodnight had seen the town preacher he'd grinned bright as a sunbeam, and bought him a damn drink.

"Hello Goodnight," Vasquez said. "How's the leg?"

Goodnight tapped the bad leg gently with the tip of his cane. "Aches a bit right before it rains. I suppose I could apply for a position as official town weather man." 

Vasquez nodded. "Billy said almost the same thing about his shoulder last night."

To Goodnight's amusement a streak of crimson spread across Vasquez's cheeks.

"Yes, he mentioned that you two got together,"Goodnight said. For a moment he considered playing with the younger man. Just a bit of gentle teasing, but Vasquez couldn't seem to decide if he was gearing up for a fight or an apology, and Goodnight wanted neither. "Next time he decides to visit maybe you make sure he doesn't come back half-frozen."

Vasquez tipped his head to the side, and nodded. "I won't."

Emma leaned over to brush the flour off Vasquez's nose. The blush had also covered that stretch of skin, and her hand lingered for long enough that Goodnight could practically feel Mrs. Weaver and Mrs. Samuels craning their necks to get a better look. 

"I am going to go pay for this," she said, motioning to her basket. "I'll cover the expense for the flour as well. Gabriel, will you meet me back at the farm?"

Vasquez opened his mouth, but Goodnight cut him off.

"I have a better idea. Why don't I wait outside with him while you go pay," he said. "Then you can both walk me back to the hotel, and have plenty of time to get home to the farm."

"That sounds-" Vasquez looked between Emma and Goodnight uncertainly. "Good?"

"It sounds like something," Emma muttered, and headed to the counter.

 

* * *

 

Rose Creek was never going to be a booming metropolis, at least not in Goodnight's lifetime, but it had picked up a number of new souls since Bogue's demise. Some of the miners had married some of the widows, and about a year later a new crop of children had entered the community which meant there was a decent amount of foot traffic for the two men to watch as they waited under the shade of the porch.

A fair amount of that traffic gave a nod or hat tip to them, but the chill kept anyone from stopping to chat.

"If I were going to kill you," Goodnight said, as he watched watery sunlight fight to peek out of the clouds. "I would have shot you from a window as you were walking through town. I'm a town hero. No one would have questioned it. As I have not done that, you can assume that you are safe."

Vasquez blinked, and then the tom cat expression washed over his face again.

"If you think _you're_ a town hero you should see-"

" _V_ _asquez_ ," Goodnight sighed. "Despite what everyone might believe I am not angry, or upset or put upon by all of _this_."

He flapped his hand in Vasquez's direction.

"But Billy doesn't believe me when I say that," he continued. "And the lot of you pussy footing around me is not helping. Stop acting like I am the wronged spouse in some sort of terrible morality play. I gave my blessing to this, and I have no intention of taking it back."

Goodnight doesn't say his rosary anymore. Hail Mary's for this and Our Fathers for that were a nice idea when he was a boy, but as a man he could never fully accept that words were worth their weight in forgiveness. No matter what his daddy used to say, life continually showed Goodnight that actions were the only real way to redemption. Still, he could almost hear the beads clacking against one another as he and Vasquez spoke. Old beliefs died hard.

The doors to the general store creaked open, and Emma joined them on the porch with a put-upon expression on her face. Vasquez looked torn between going to her, and grabbing Goodnight by the coat and throttling him. He opted instead for nodding, hefting the sack of flour over his shoulder again, and offering the crook of his arm to Emma.

"We have given those two enough gossip to fill the ears of their great-great-grandchildren," Emma said, as she slid her arm through his. "You know, before you lot I was a very traditional woman."

The three of them jumped at the sound of a _slap_ , and they turned to see the face of Mrs. Weavers' youngest daughter peering out the general store's window, rag in hand. She blinked at them before quickly applying the damp piece of cloth to the already spotless glass.

"We should get going," Emma said, dryly.

Vasquez turned, bowed deeply, and then blew the girl a kiss. The Weavers' daughter looked so please that Goodnight was surprised she didn't clap her hands together like a child. Emma laughed, and slapped Vasquez's shoulder.

Not for the first time, Goodnight fully understood his new situation. And not for the last time, he found himself glad for it.

 

* * *

 

The beginning of the story wasn't all that interesting when Billy told it.

"They said you weren't going to wake up. I didn't believe them, but you slept for so long. I was upset and he was kind."

It was all he'd offered, but Goodnight hadn't needed more. He was a storyteller, and he had all the information he needed to tease out the rest.

"I'm sorry."

It was the sorry that had tipped the scale, and chewed through Goodnight's heart. He'd been the one who'd left Billy twice; once to die, and once to the belief that he'd be living the rest of his life injured and alone.

What did Billy have to be sorry for?

 

* * *

 

"This is terrible," Billy said. "How are you okay with how terrible this is?"

They were tucked up in bed again. Goodnight with his head pillowed on Billy's stomach, and a copy of _Moby Dick_ in his hands.

"I can't say it's the best book in the world," Goodnight said, a little baffled at Billy's harsh judgement. "But if you hate it so much I can read you something else."

"Not that," Billy said, his hands running through Goodnight's short hair. "You know not that."

Goody closed the book, and set it to the side.

"Do you want to fuck, Sam?" Billy asked in a rush. "You can. I don't mind."

"I think Sam would mind," Goody answered.

The idea of rolling around with Sam wasn't a brand new one. Sam was an attractive man, but he'd never shown Goodnight any interest in that particular way so Goody'd never done anything about it. 

"Teddy?"  Billy tried.

"I could be his father."

"Emma?"

"You're making me feel like father time over here, Bill." 

"One of the Elysian girls?"

"You are reaching, my darling."

"What do you want then," Billy asked, frustration pouring off him. "Tell me what you want so that this balances!"

Goodnight tried to sit up, but Billy's hands flattened across Goodnight's chest as though he were certain Goodnight would shake him off and head for the door. With a sigh Goodnight let his head fall back, baring his throat at the ceiling. He reached up, and entwined his hand with Billy's.

"You don't believe me, but things already are. _This_ is balanced to me."

"Vasquez and I fucking, is balanced to you?" Billy asked.

"I'd also appreciate it if he made good on his hot bath promise," Goodnight said. "But yes. It is. You don't seem to have this amount of guilt over Mrs. Cullen being a part of this?"

"It's different," Billy said. "Her Mathew is dead. If he wasn't in the ground she wouldn't be sharing her bed or her breakfast table or her farm with Vasquez."

Goodnight shrugged. "People have all kinds of arrangements, _cher_. We only just met her."

Billy's eyes narrowed.

"You don't believe me?"

"No," Billy snapped. "That's the problem. I believe you. I just don't understand. I don't understand this, or you, or me, or any of it."

Goodnight dug his hands into Billy's dark hair. Cradled his face, and held his gaze.

"Even if you don't understand it, do you still want it?" Goodnight asked softly.

He tightened his grip when Billy tried to look away.

"Seeing you have desires, and then seeing you enjoy them lightens my heart," Goodnight said. "You want Vasquez, and he sure as hell wants you right back. Why shouldn't you have each other?"

Billy dipped his head to kiss him hard. His hand tugged at Goodnight's shirt until it came free of from his pants, and then his nimble fingers started on the buttons of his vest.

"I want _you_. I always want you."

Goodnight kissed his way down Billy's face, and neck. He bit hard on the other man's pulse point which drew a sharp, familiar gasp.

"You have me. You'll always have me."

Later, curled together in their shared bed Goodnight pressed his hand over Billy's chest. This would take time, but he had faith. He could convince Billy that his actions were causing no pain, and committing no sin. He was simply doing what he'd always done. Helping Goodnight manage the terrible consequences of his terrible deeds.

Goodnight couldn't change the war, and bring men back from the dead. He couldn't change his childhood, and go back in time to force his eyes to see the people who'd suffered to hold together his life of luxury and wealth, but he could fix this. He could let Billy's heart, his huge heart that Goodnight had stomped on with the heel of his boot have all the things it wanted. He could help filled it with every scrap of love that was willing to wander his way.

If the universe was a balancing act, a ledger filled with neat notations, and balanced columns than Goodnight figured Vasquez must have had a great deal of unjust acts committed on his person. It was the only way Goodnight could figure he deserved Billy.

Who was he to argue with the universe?

Somewhere else, unseen and unknowable a pen hovered over his ledger. The wind gave a gentle push to the swinging disks of judgement's scale, and with Billy's heart buzzing under the thin skin of his fingers Goodnight fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> -You know how some people write really healthy, delightful poly fics? I'm apparently not one of them.....well ok this is like healthy lite. Just one calorie not quite healthy yet. 
> 
> -....right.


End file.
